Threads of Scarlet
by Feagalad
Summary: She hated that man, she really did. Hated his smile, hated his looks, hated his mind and the way it drew her in. He was her doom, her desire, and the devil of her heart. Irene Adler hated Sherlock Holmes as fiercely as she loved him – and that made him her downfall.


**Disclaimer:** While anything you read within belongs to me, ownership of the characters and setting (not to mention the concept) are not within my budget so you're barking up the wrong tree.

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If she has to pinpoint the moment where she first fell in love with Sherlock Holmes Irene Adler would look back to the day so long ago when a young man deduced her measurements from one glance and took down a group of CIA trained killers in her sitting room. Of course this would only ever happen if she would ever stoop to using so plebeian a term as 'true love' to describe her relationship with the consulting detective – and Irene Adler is anything _but_ plebeian.

She was the highest of her class – a fact that she is justly proud of for she had worked her arse off to get to where she was. That only made her defeat sting all the more. What was she thinking, harbouring treacherous thoughts of love like that? Why had she let herself be drawn in by the enigmatic Mr. Holmes? How had she fallen so far and so hard before even she, the self-professed expert on feelings of lust or love, realised her peril?

She hated that man, she really did. Hated his smile, hated his looks, hated his mind and the way it drew her in. He was her doom, her desire, and the devil of her heart. Irene Adler hated Sherlock Holmes as fiercely as she loved him – and that made him her downfall. She had thought herself so clever, spelling his name into her phone as he sprawled on her bedroom floor in bewilderment. She had taken great pleasure in firmly showing him just who was the boss in this situation. She had had the upper hand and even to this day she berates herself for the brief moment of damning sentiment that had laid her heart bare for that man to break.

It had seemed so cunning at the time. Her passcode **I-AM-SHER-LOCKED** should have baffled The Virgin beyond comprehension. Irene didn't need Jim Moriarty to tell her that Sherlock Holmes was completely inexperienced in matters of the heart – one glance had been enough to tell her that. Holmes was not the only one capable of excelling at the science of deduction; after all, she had lived off her ability to discover what people liked for years. Within the first meeting she found out that Holmes was almost certainly the virgin that Jim's nickname had taunted and that, while primarily by choice, it wasn't because he was completely uninterested in the fairer sex.

Her battle dress had been an invaluable tool in throwing the great detective off (not to mention completely distracting his little pet doctor) but Irene had to admit that she was almost pleasantly surprised whenever he told her that it was 'boring him'. The insulting implications of that statement aside, perhaps it was just refreshing to meet a man who looked at her for something other than her body. She had left their first meeting as intrigued with him as he obviously was with her – her constant texts and gift of ringtone were not all for the purpose of deception. In fact the entire ruse had been as much for her pleasure as it was for necessity. Holmes was ignorant and scornful of anything close to passion or romance; that was why she had never thought that he would ever understand her own attraction to him. For all of his arrogance and posturing the detective was really quite insecure about the way people saw him and Irene had counted on that insecurity (as well as the lingering sting of her betrayal) to dissuade that great mind from ever cracking her code.

It hadn't been easy to push past him that night – to ignore him as though her heart didn't beat faster every time he spoke. But she was The Woman and she had carefully encased her heart in stone, so she brushed off the way his gaze set her skin on fire and went about her business of misbehaving. She was certain that this infatuation would fade with time. But then the razor sharp tongue and intelligence of Sherlock Holmes had turned against her and it was no longer like watching a beam of light – oh no; now he was like a tiger stalking his prey and all she could do was watch mutely as he stole away her life and tore her heart to shreds.

She hadn't realised how deeply she was entangled until that night. It hurt more than she could possibly have expected when he left her to burn – left her with his elder brother and the advice to _'lock her up, if you're feeling kind'._ She had played the game and lost because she had played with the wrong person. When Sherlock Holmes plays the game he plays hard – and he plays for keeps.

So now as she kneels on the hard cement floor in preparation for her death her one regret is that she will not see Sherlock Holmes again. She doesn't wish to beg for his forgiveness. Such gestures are beneath her and she knows without a shadow of a doubt that he would regard them with deep scorn. But she feels that she will…she will miss him. Miss his diamond-hard wit, his otherworldly features, his velvety voice, and his entrancing, devastating mind. He held a fascination for her that absence has only strengthened. But it is no matter – she is to die alone and unmourned. No one will miss The Woman when she is dead. Not Kate (who vanished soon after their luck ran out) not her clients (who would probably be relieved) not even her family (all dead and buried or scattered to the winds). Her last request is to send a text…and there is only one person she could ever consider giving her final words to: Sherlock Holmes the consulting detective, her enemy, her doom, and the accidental love of her life. Perhaps, if one such as her deserves a blessing, the man in whose snare she is inexplicably and blissfully caught will think of her after she is gone. But she holds no hope of that. Irene Adler lost all rights to the heart of Sherlock Holmes the night she betrayed him – and in a way that is good because he was destined to be her downfall from the very first day they met when a young detective deduced her measurements to save his best friend.

_Goodbye, Mr. Holmes_


End file.
